


At Night

by Ellionne



Series: Harry Potter And The Horcruxes [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Eldritch-like Horcrux, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Pre-Hogwarts, Psychological Horror, monster under the bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellionne/pseuds/Ellionne
Summary: He thought it to be the best day of his life.He had been wrong. So, so wrong.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort
Series: Harry Potter And The Horcruxes [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105601
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50
Collections: Enabled and Approved at the Wholesome Place





	At Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [space_adventures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/gifts).



> **Do NOT repost, recreate or translate.**
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RYE!
> 
> Thanks to my beta [Sage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14) <3

“Go to your room, Boy!”

“But-“

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Boy!”

Harry gulped.  
It wasn’t Uncle Vernon’s scathing tone that made him flinch, he had been long used to it.  
No, his uncle wasn’t a part of his nightmares any longer. On the few occasions that Harry slept deep enough to dream, there was no room for the Dursley’s like it had been when he was smaller, still sleeping in his cupboard. 

Harry missed his cupboard.

His peace had been robbed from him when he had been seven years old and Mrs Figg, the crazy old cat lady who watched after him sometimes, had stood at their door, a letter in hand, and somehow bullied his relatives into giving him Dudley’s second bedroom. 

Harry had been delighted. So much _space_ he didn’t know what to do with it. He had been amazed. 

He thought it to be the best day of his life. 

_He had been wrong. So, so wrong._

That night, the first time he ever slept in a real bed, he _knew_ he wasn’t alone. He had lain in his bed, wide awake, and _knew_ there was someone else with him in the room.  
_Something_ else.

It took mere three days before he tried to sneak back into his cupboard. 

It hadn’t been pretty when Vernon caught him in the morning. Harry had planned on leaving his cupboard, the only _home_ he had ever known, early in the morning but sleep-deprived as he was, he promptly overslept.  
After that, his cupboard had been looked to keep him _out_ \- and hadn’t that been the strangest feeling ever? 

It took some time but he got eventually used to sleeping in his room, in presence of the, well, _presence._ The whispering made it difficult at first. Harry couldn't understand what it said, but the high hissing noises used to keep him awake until the morning. 

In the end, Harry was able to talk himself into believing it was the wind, rustling through his not quite closed window. It took all his imagination and his desperation for a few hours of sleep, but he convinced himself. And he slept. 

Naturally, the moment where he almost was used enough to the _presence_ was when it all went to shit. 

It didn’t matter how small he made himself, how many layers he tried to hide in, occasionally, there would be a careful touch - a cold, skeletal hand, long fingers closing lightly around his ankle.  
It was probing.  
It was assessing.  
Harry knew the _presence_ was _hungry_ and he felt the touch was to determine if Harry was already ripe for the harvest.  
If Harry was ready to be devoured. 

Harry ceased to sleep after that.  
At least at night.  
He slept in stolen moments over the day, hidden in forgotten corners or under the bushes in the garden.  
Not in his room. 

_Never in his room._

At night, he laid awake, mind drifting.  
Silently waiting for the _presence_ to make itself known or not.  
Some nights he felt the probing touch, other nights there was nothing but the feeling of the _presence_ without further proof of its existence. 

Harry had tried to, but he could never _see_ the touch.  
He would think himself insane if it weren’t for Aunt Petunia, who gave him always - without fail - more food without noticing the days after a _touch._  
Before she fell back into her old habits of keeping him on short rations. 

It only strengthened his belief that the touch was to assess his ripeness.  
Harry wondered if he was Hansel, he sure felt like it.  
He had once tried to not eat the extra food.  
He had been devastated but his fear to be devoured won out in the end. 

The following night, the touch wasn’t probing - it was punishing.  
It closed around his throat, tighter and tighter, and all Harry could do was lay there, staring wide-eyed at the empty room and trying to keep his breathless panic at bay to not alert his relatives.

He had obediently eaten without fuss after that.  
If he was about to die, to be devoured whole by a faceless monster no matter what he did, he could at least take the crumbs it laid out for him.

  
  
  


With his Hogwarts letter came hope. 

The existence of magic didn’t surprise him. The _presence_ couldn't be _normal_ , after all. 

Harry could see in Vernon’s face how the man wanted to complain but next to the man that had personally delivered Harry’s letter, Harry’s uncle who had always seemed bigger than life looked like a petulant child. 

Harry was allowed to accompany the man - Hagrid - to an enchanting street with wicked stores and overall, Harry had the most _positive_ exciting day of his life. 

And oh, the stories Hagrid had to tell, about Hogwarts - _the most secure place in the whole world, Harry._

He knew it was stupid, but Harry felt anticipation.  
Hope. 

He hadn’t dared to before.  
Had resigned himself to the _presence_ who prodded and poked him nearly every night.  
He had resigned himself to the fear of being devoured.  
To the hissing noise, that his stressed-out mind sometimes altered into words, into his name. 

_Could it be? Could he finally have an out?_

The following nights, Harry had no trouble staying awake.  
He was excited.  
He was relieved.  
He would be free. 

He would be _alone._

  
  
  


A month later, an eleven-year-old Harry Potter, looking well-fed and healthy - deep circles under his eyes aside - stared with even more wonder and amazement around than the other children. 

A month later, a previously friendless Harry Potter talked the sorting hat out of Slytherin and joined his first friend ever into Gryffindor. They made it to the dorms and while Harry felt a small pang that he wouldn’t be _alone_ \- he had to share the room with a few other boys - it didn’t dampen his anticipation.

A month _and a day_ later, a well-rested Harry Potter was so relieved he could barely hold himself together and refrain from crying. He hadn’t felt a single trace of the _presence_ since he set a foot on Hogwarts’ grounds. 

He was finally _free._

  
  
  


A month _and a week_ later, Harry Potter was awake at night.  
Not out of habit, no.  
Harry laid awake in silent horror - hands over his mouth to keep the sobbing at bay - the feeling of a long, thin tongue tasting the side of his face. 

A faint hissing in the air, like a chuckle.  
Words no longer just imagined, but clear to hear.

_Did you miss me, Harry?_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have [tumblr](https://ellionne.tumblr.com/) now. Feel free to check it out and throw me a question or something. :D


End file.
